


Fragility

by Alaska_Is_Confused



Category: Dream SMP - Fandom, Minecraft (Video Game)
Genre: ALL RELATIONSHIPS PLATONIC UNLESS EXPLICITLY STATED OTHERWISE IN LORE, Alternate Universe - Horror, Dadza needs to get his act together, Dreamons....? :), Eggpire, Emotional Manipulation, Everyone Needs A Hug, Exiled TommyInnit (Video Blogging RPF), Fundy needs to stop tryna break the 4th wall, Gen, Ghost Wilbur Soot, Karl Jacobs lost in time what will he do, Karlnapity, Okay but actually somebody please hug Ranboo, POV Multiple, Post-Manberg-Pogtopia War on Dream Team SMP (Video Blogging RPF), Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Pyromaniac Sapnap (Video Blogging RPF), Ranboo Needs a Hug (Video Blogging RPF), Shapeshifter Floris | Fundy, This: :), Toby Smith | Tubbo Needs a Hug, TommyInnit Needs a Hug (Video Blogging RPF), Villain Clay | Dream (Video Blogging RPF), awesamdad, don't do murder kids, dsmp but Steven King borrowed the script for a few days, dsmp but it's basically just Stranger Things, papa puffy, red skeppy, red tendril things, tags added when relevant, themes of demonic possession, time traveler karl
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-03-06
Updated: 2021-03-12
Packaged: 2021-03-16 00:53:27
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,291
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29445117
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Alaska_Is_Confused/pseuds/Alaska_Is_Confused
Summary: Takes place directly after the Manberg-Pogtopia War.It hasn't been a week since Wilbur's death, and the discovery of a brutal murder already threatens the recovery of New L'Manberg.
Comments: 2
Kudos: 12





	1. Incident on Isla Nublar (Prologue)

**Author's Note:**

> Hi, so don't get invested if you are easily triggered by themes of derealization, physical AND emotional torture, and/or death. I just want to be a good big sibling and make sure you all stay mentally healthy and happy. 
> 
> With love, _Alaska

Sam’s idea of a relaxing weekend was a sweatshirt, fuzzy socks, and thick leather apron. His respirator hissed softly as he worked, releasing small snatches of the tune he was humming and nodding along to. Fran lay curled in the corner, silky white head resting on the floor, but her soft brown eyes were focused on his every movement.

Carefully, he threaded the last portion of the redstone line into the mechanics before straightening, surveying the finished work with a critical eye. He flipped the lever, and a large grin spread across his face at the sound of whirring machinery sliding smoothly into position. He dusted the redstone from his apron as the machine hummed, rocking from one foot to the next impatiently. A muffled clink came from the chest, and he threw it open to find a row of neatly stacked glass bottles filled with strength potions. He grabbed one of them, toasting the air in triumph.

“Would you look at that, Fran?” The dog didn’t lift her head, but her tail thumped against the floor at her name. “Those thieving endermen can’t keep us down for long. It only took me a couple hours this time to figure out what they messed up.” He pushed his respirator up, shaking a hand through his dark green hair that had stuck to his forehead with sweat. “It’s good to hear that sound again.”

Fran yawned widely.

  
“Oh, you see this every day, do you?” Sam got to his feet, stretching out his back. “There’s just no appreciation out here. I miss the days when everyone was impressed with the simplest of mechanics. It did wonders for my ego, to be sure.”

There was a banging sound on the enormous mechanical door that led to the outside. Sam lifted his head swiftly, glancing up at the clock on the wall with a frown. “It’s a bit late to be visiting.” It had to be someone who knew where the secret entrance on the side of the mountain was, after all— although, due to his delight for showing off his creations, that didn’t narrow it down very much. Still, regardless of who it was outside, it was strange for them to be out in the dark at this hour.

Fran’s ears pricked, then flattened to her skull anxiously. “It’s okay, girl.” Sam kissed the top of the dog’s head, reaching for the trident resting against the wall beside her. “I’ll check it out."

The banging intensified, echoing into the hollow compartments that housed the door’s mechanics. Sam gripped the trident in his hand harder, furrowing his brow. Should he go and grab his armor?

Nah, he’d risk it. He flipped the switch beside the door, waiting uneasily as it lowered gradually.

As the door retreated into the floor, it revealed his friend and L’Manberg knight, Captain Puffy, on the other side. Sam saw immediately that something was wrong. Puffy was slumped against the side of the mountain, gripping one hand just below her ribs. Meeting Sam’s gaze, she flashed him a smile with gritted teeth, and something like immense relief passed over her expression.

“Hi, Sam.” With the greeting, the knight sank to the ground, collapsing at his feet in a sprawl of armor and white-blond curls.

“Puffy?” Sam dropped beside her, panicked. He lifted her limp chin, but her eyes had rolled back in their sockets, cheeks blazing with feverish heat. Fran whined and licked at the woman’s hand as Sam yanked one of his gloves off, frantically checking for a pulse.

“Hang in there, my friend.” Gently, Sam lifted the knight, stumbling into one of the bedrooms. He kicked chests out of the way, laying her carefully on the bed. Blood bloomed slowly across the sheets, staining his arms and chest where he had held her to him.

“Puffy. Can you hear me? It’s Sam. You’re going to be okay.” He fumbled to undo the straps on her armor, feeling her burning forehead a second time impulsively. As he pulled away her backplate, his heart gave a jump in shock; the netherite armor had been torn cleanly through with the ease of scissors through wrapping paper.

Stepping back, he chewed at his bottom lip with his arms folded over one another. He turned, sprinting out into the corridor. Fran’s nails clicked on the floor after him. Reaching the enderporter, he flung the trapdoor down. Immediately, Ponk materialized in the chamber beside it, dressed in fuzzy pajamas and looking exceptionally annoyed.

“What the hell do you mean, calling me here at this hour? I was in bed, stoopid!”

Sam quirked his mouth into a crooked smile. “Hey, Ponkie. Thanks for coming.”

“Didn’t have much of a choice, now did I?” Ponk grumbled, stumbling out of the chamber. He squinted in the bright lights of the corridor. “What are you still doing awake, you bloody insomniac?”

“I need your help,” Sam ran to the laundry, snatching an armful of clean towels. “Something’s happened.”

Ponk grinned suddenly, skipping after him. “I see you’ve finally come around. I keep telling you, my essential oils are extremely natural and most definitely healthy and legally sourced.”

“We are not using your mountebank medicine,” Sam slid on his socks over to his newly-repaired chests of potions. “You’re not a doctor, you’re an extra pair of hands.” He rifled through the slots, pulling out several bottles of regen. “She’s too weak for anything stronger, but we can at least try to keep her strength up.”

“Who?” Ponk pouted as his friend shoved the bottles into his arms. “And I don’t even know what the hell a mount-a-bank is.”

“Exactly.” Sam stuffed several more bottles into his sweatshirt pocket, hurrying back to Puffy with Ponk following close behind.

“Eyy, Puffy!” Ponk threw his arms out wide at the sight of the knight. “You’re looking a little worse for wear.”

Sam shot him a hard look as he slid around to the other side of the bed. “Get that regen in her, ASAP. She’s lost a lot of blood.”

Ponk took one look at the blood spreading across the sheets and doubled over, stomach heaving.

“What kind of a doctor are you?” Sam shook his head disapprovingly. He took a deep breath, bouncing on the balls of his feet like a runner preparing for a race, and shook the apprehension out of his hands. Carefully, he pushed Puffy’s bloodsoaked shirt back to reveal the gaping wound in her side. Three even slashes ran across the small of her back to just below her ribcage, as clean as though from a razor-thin blade. Sam inhaled sharply through his teeth. “Help me turn her over, Ponk.”

The two eased Puffy onto her stomach, and the knight whimpered slightly. Sam set his jaw this time, surveying the wound with it clenched so tightly he could feel the tension in the ligaments at his throat. The gashes were so deep that a small glint of beige bone was visible at her ribs.

The cuts had gone straight through her armor, deep enough to hit bone. Sam had never seen anything like it. Yes, netherite armor could crack under extreme wear, but he had never seen it so useless in protection before— she might as well have been wearing nothing but her uniform. What sort of weapon was that powerful?

The only thing Sam understood was the location of the wound; his friend had been ambushed from behind, too quickly to defend herself.

The feeling rose stealthily, beginning as a mere tightening in his chest. The tightening began to heat rapidly, and the white-hot fury crackled. He lifted his fists, digging his fingernails into his palms as a low hissing noise filled the room.

“Oh shi—” Ponk threw his hands in front of his face. “Sam! Stop! Stop!”

Sam barely heard him; his vision was blurred, tinged with red. The veins in his arms bulged to the surface, and the patches of bright, warning green were clearly visible, racing up his neck and crowding at his jugular. He bared his teeth, and the hissing grew louder, the pressure built until it was almost unbearable—

Fran whined and touched her muzzle to his thigh; he dropped his fists, forcing himself to breathe easier.

Deep breaths.

In.

Out.

The hissing died away, taking the crackling feeling in his chest with him.

He exhaled shakily, bending to lay a heavy hand between the dog’s silky ears. “Good girl.”

After a moment, Ponk dropped his own hands, relaxing slightly. Sam shot him a tight smile.

“Sorry.”

“All good,” Ponk eyed him cautiously.

Puffy gave a muffled groan into the pillow, and Sam had to stop himself before reaching for her hand with his ungloved one; the specially-made leather sizzled a bit when he pulled it back over his hand. He knelt beside the knight, and Fran laid her head on his leg, blinking up at him with soft brown eyes.

“How did this happen?” Sam whispered. “I thought the war was over.”

“Beats me,” Ponk pursed his lips. He eyed the mutilated backplate that Sam had left on the floor at the head of the bed. “That’s a pretty damn powerful weapon to be doing that.”

“Strength II and a netherite axe?” Sam began to clumsily rinse out the wound with a bottle of regen.

“Too clean of a cut,” Ponk shook his head. “Even Sharpness V would just crack the armor, not slice right through it.”

“She must’ve been jumped,” Sam growled. Ponk shot him a warning look, but Sam gave his friend a weary OK hand— he’d been taken by surprise at first, but he had it under control now. He forced his voice to remain level, focusing on his work instead of the tightness that threatened his chest. “Either that, or she was running away from whatever it was. She didn’t even have time to defend herself.”

Ponk tapped a finger to his chin thoughtfully, and fumbled with the cork of his bottle of regen. “Why would she come all the way out here? Isn’t she one of Eret’s knights or something now?”

“I don’t know,” Sam said in frustration. “I need to know how this happened.”

Ponk tipped the bottle of regen into Puffy’s mouth, and the effect was almost instantaneous. Her eyes snapped open, taking a moment to focus before she groaned, pulling her arms underneath her as though to get up.

“Stay down,” Sam pressed his broad hands into the back of her shoulders, gently forcing her back. “You’ll open your wound back up.” He glanced over at Ponk. “Give her some more.”

Puffy drank more, grimacing at the bitter taste. She squeezed her eyes shut, gritting her teeth and gripping the pillow as Sam pressed the clean wad of towels to her side.

“What happened?” Sam asked, awkwardly trying to work around his own hands. He bent to meet Puffy’s eye. “Who did this to you?”

Puffy shook her head with her eyes still shut. Her voice rasped, throat raw. “Warn the others.”

“Warn them about what?” Ponk leaned over Sam’s shoulder, gripping his upper arm painfully tight. Fran’s ears flattened, and she whined again softly, feeling the tension in Sam’s body. He busied himself with rubbing her silky ears between his fingertips, forcing himself to remain calm.

Puffy tried again, seeming to find it painful to even breathe. “HBomb—”

“What!” Ponk exclaimed in disbelief. “HBoob did this?”

“No, he’s…” Puffy sucked in a ragged breath, curling her fingers into the fabric of the pillowcase. Tears squeezed out of her eyes, sliding trails through the grime on her cheeks. “He’s dead.”

* * *

Skeppy paused in the darkness, tilting his head toward the ceiling, listening. The sound of tools above him echoed throughout the mostly empty mansion, and he smiled a bit. He felt around in the dark for the light switch before flipping it on. Squinting in the sudden brightness, he put a hand up to block the light from the fluorescent lamps buzzing overhead, trotting the rest of the way down the stairs. The concrete was cold underneath his sneakers. A large insect rammed itself into the bulb overhead over and over, making a continued plinking noise as the light flickered occasionally. 

Skeppy’s toe hit something soft, and he stopped where he was, rubbing his eyes and waiting for them to focus. He could clearly see the blood-red tendril, even in the shuddering light, feeling its warmth pulsating softly against his foot. He pulled his foot away quickly, lifting his head to follow the thin red cord across the room to its source. He caught his breath at the sight. The tendrils had wound tightly around one another, forming a large, throbbing mass as they slid over and around one another slowly.

“How the hell did it get this big?” Skeppy whispered. Bad had cleared out the batch from last night. They had taken care of it, right? Hesitantly, he walked over to the strange organism, reaching for the hoe resting against the wall beside it. He gripped the worn wood of the handle tightly and took a deep breath, lifting the tool above his head to swing it down onto the slithering mass. The tendrils squelched as the blade sliced through them, and Skeppy recoiled with a curse, dropping the hoe to stare at his hands in shock. The skin hissed quietly, blackened and burned where they had been splashed— blood oozed from the wounds, bright, startling red.

The sound of hammering above him stopped immediately.

“Shit.” Skeppy backed away. He lifted his hands again, holding them away from his body. It was too big. How was it so big?! He kept backing up, nearly tripping as a tendril caught his heel. It had never gotten like this before. How was this happening? The crimson thing loomed in the corner, grotesque and quietly thrumming as though to the beat of his own heart, even picking up speed with it. Skeppy let the beads of blood slide down his palms, winding trails of red slowly down his arms as he stood still. He could already hear the rapid footsteps descending the stairs, but he yelled out his friend’s name regardless.

“ _Bad!_ ”

This was not good.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi! This is an alternate take on the original lore that my sister and I decided to write in order to have something of common interest with each other, and it's sorta spiraled out of control since then. We really wanted to see where we could go with the thing, working with some interesting concepts that weren't really explored in the original lore. All we can hope for is that you enjoy it as much as we have. Expect a lot of hopping between POVs, because we want to give everyone their fair time to shine. 
> 
> I'm not really sure what to tell you except to prepare for a very emotional rollercoaster. Angst writing is surprisingly helpful for dealing with midterms anxiety.


	2. Reconstruction

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thinking about posting regularly on Fridays, but I wanted to get a few chapters out already to get the story moving. Hello to everyone here, and thank you for the love!

Tubbo Underscore hammered the last nail into place, straightening up to view his handiwork.

“It’s crooked,” His best friend Tommy Innit yelled from below. Tubbo glanced down, and his friend grinned, displaying thick metal braces. “Why didn’t you check that before you nailed the boards to it, idiot?”

Tubbo considered that for a moment. “A path is a path,” he announced. “I know this was the first thing you insisted on getting rebuilt, but it’s not exactly my first priority. We’ll get something better later on.” Tubbo bent to dust off his pants, pretending not to pay any mind to the enormous crater in the middle of the settlement. 

“If I catch my toe on a board and break my neck, it’s your fault,” Tommy complained. He scrambled up the side of the bared rock, stumbling a bit as the earth crumbled under his weight. Tubbo gave him a hand up, and he pulled himself onto the suspended path. 

Tubbo sat down with his legs swinging over the empty space, and Tommy followed suit. For a moment, the two friends sat in silence, listening to the wind howl over the gaping crater below them.

Tubbo leaned back on his hands. “How did the paths look down there?” He was assuming that was what Tommy had been doing— the teen hadn’t done much all morning except wander around aimlessly while Tubbo worked.

Tommy lifted his shoulders in a careless shrug. “’Bout what you’d expect. I didn’t go as far as Pogtopia.”

Tubbo understood. He swung his legs back and forth absently. “At least the bees made it.”

“You and your bees,” Tommy sighed. 

“I think this place will look just fine, with a bit of environmental design,” Tubbo continued, tilting his head to one side and squinting one eye. “Put the houses on stilts. Or balloons! Balloons would be sick.”

“You’re being all adult and shit again,” Tommy sighed. “Thinking about making the place look nice this early on. Can’t we just… I dunno, _relax_ a bit before we get started on all that?”

“And I suppose you’re just going to grab a bunch of blankets and sleep on a shelf of this crater for the next month or so?” Tubbo scoffed.

“What’s wrong with the camarvan?” Tommy turned to him in genuine surprise.

“What’s wrong with _you?_ It smells disgusting,” Tubbo shook his head in mock disapproval. “Do you not remember what all you and Wilbur were— ahem— _brewing_ in it? I personally don’t want to sleep in there any longer than I have to. Besides, I don’t know how much longer I can handle Fundy’s snoring.” 

That got a small chuckle out of Tommy, and Tubbo couldn’t help a smile. He had been worried for a second, mentioning Wilbur— his friend had been awfully quiet the past few days. It was good to see that it took more than the decimation of their home and death of his mentor to keep the old Tommy down for long. 

Tubbo got to his feet, folding his arms over one another across his chest. He blew his dark hair out of his eyes, surveying his surroundings. Every building, the ones that still stood anyways, was stained with gunpowder and smoke, and some of them hadn’t even been stripped of their ragged festival decorations, flapping crazily in the breeze. _All that effort, and now look at the place_ , he thought. 

No matter. If there was one thing Tubbo loved, it was the grind. The thought of redesigning the place was comforting to him. As though there was something he could really contribute to help scrub clean the muddled confusion of the past couple of months.

Tubbo hopped from the path to the ground, stepping over spent firecracker charges that were still buried nose-deep in the soil. Someone’s cracked diamond chestplate lay in the sand by one of the ponds, and he absently wiped the grime from it with his foot. 

His toe hit something solid, and he glanced down to find a shield. The paint had been chipped and damaged in the destruction, but he could clearly make out the dark red ‘X’ in a background of black. He pulled it up out of the mud, dragging it along the edge of the pond before swinging it as far as he could into the murky water, flinching slightly at the resounding splash it made. Tommy watched him from the suspended path, heavy brows knitted together.

Tubbo’s gaze was drawn against his will, falling upon the familiar wooden podium. 

The panic that had so often seized him before had dulled with time, now manifesting in a churning wave of nausea in his stomach. Taking a deep breath, he forced his feet to walk up the steps leading around the back of the structure— forced himself to face what was waiting for him behind it. Someone had bothered only to move the iron cage out of view of the audience below, and its disassembled pieces leaned against the stairs waiting for him, cold and terribly familiar. The inside of the cage was scorched, and the chains still rested inside, hopelessly tangled. Tubbo didn’t need to look closer to know that the dark stains of splatter were blood.

His blood. 

The scar on his side began to throb almost instinctively. The memory surfaced, unwanted— the weight of those manacles dragging at his small wrists, the way the unforgiving metal bars had felt pressed into his back. How his pain had exploded in a bright display of multicolored sparks and festive crackling, a beautiful spectacle of terror. How he had looked Death in the eyes and realized that no one there was going to save him— he was alone. Every eye was on him, but he was completely alone— and Schlatt was laughing. He was _laughing_. The nausea gripped his stomach tighter, twisting mercilessly.

“You said he wasn’t going to hurt me,” Tubbo whispered. 

“Eyyy, Mr. President!” The voice burst through the quiet courtyard, shattering the silence as though having chucked a hammer into it. “How’s our first full day in office working out for you?”

Tubbo jerked his head up swiftly, taking a moment to register who the voice belonged to before hurrying to the edge of the podium and peering down. Quackity and Karl Jacobs grinned up at him with cheery waves, a long package balanced precariously on the former’s shoulder. “Get down here, Mr. President! We’ve got a surprise for you.”

Over on the path, Tommy scrambled to his feet, jumping down as the Secretary of State maneuvered his way through the scattered debris with his cumbersome load. “Big Q! Where’ve you been?”

“There’s a hole there—” Karl grabbed Quackity’s sleeve, and Quackity caught himself just in time, yanking his toes away from the edge of L’Manberg’s crater.

“You just saved my life,” Quackity breathed. “That’s so hot.”

Karl blushed a brilliant red. “Not as hot as you insisting on spending all night getting this thing finished. I love it when you get so passionate about things.” 

“Yeah?” Quackity grabbed his fiancé by the tie, pulling him into a kiss. Karl tripped backwards, and Quackity fell over top of him into the grass as the two giggled hysterically.

“ _Eugh—_ Get a room, you two!” Tommy slapped his hands over his eyes with a yelp, stumbling dramatically. “Aren’t there laws about scarring minors like this?”

“He’ll understand when he’s older,” Karl reassured Quackity.

“Then I’ll _never_ get older,” Tommy declared. “Not if it means I’m going to flop around all lovestruck for somebody like a fuckin’ _walrus_.”

Quackity spat Karl’s tie out of his mouth with a wink. “You should be thankful Sapnap decided to sleep in this morning.”

“Don’t even mention that pet murderer’s name, or I _will_ vomit,” Tommy mimed gagging. 

Tubbo toed the package that Quackity had dropped. “So what is this?”

“Uh— right.” Quackity scrambled up, stripping away the wrapping paper and sliding out an enormous roll of paper that was longer than he was. Tubbo helped him unroll it as Tommy hurried to join them.

“A wanted poster?” Tommy burst out laughing, an explosion of obnoxious spirit like a cat hacking up a hairball. Tubbo always thought it sounded incredibly painful— like he was coughing up his own lungs— but it didn’t seem to stop Tommy from using it as frequently as he did. Tubbo hadn’t realized just how much he’d missed it since the banishment.

Tubbo tilted his head to the side in order to see the poster properly. It was a painting of Technoblade, of course. Who else did they have left to blame for everything? Dream was… Dream, Schlatt was dead, and so was—

Nevermind. It was easy to pin the blame on Techno, because his performance was still fresh in everyone’s mind. Tubbo liked to see the good in everyone, and had thought for sure that the violent anarchist had finally come around, especially with how much he’d helped Tommy leading up to the battle. He had seemed genuinely sorry for what had happened at the festival, too. 

People were funny that way.

“It’s very large,” Tubbo remarked absently.

“That’s what she said—” Quackity snorted, and proceeded to giggle hysterically at his own clichéd joke. Tubbo waited for him to calm down, and Quackity swapped tones again quickly. “Yeah, so we had it made to scale. Not a single citizen won’t recognize him if he tries to come back here again.”

“He’s a pig wearing a gown,” Tommy scoffed at the picture. He made no effort to hide the bitterness in his voice, teeth bared so that his braces gleamed with ferocity. “I don’t think that will be much of an issue.”

“Big Q,” Tubbo spoke up casually, “I hate to stomp all over your excitement, but how is your end of the cleanup going?”

Quackity shot Karl a significant glance. “The Creative Head Director and I spent all of last night getting this taken care of.”

“So you haven’t started,” Tubbo translated.

“I will in a bit,” Quackity struggled to lift one end of the poster and squinted one eye, “I’m picturing a big billboard in the middle of the place with this poster smack dab in the middle. You won’t be able to miss it.”

“Where is everyone else?” Tubbo glanced around. “I thought we all agreed to meet here this morning.” It was difficult to suppress the frustration— rounding up the inhabitants of L’Manberg was like trying to corral ocelots into a corner.

“Grab a hammer out of that box, Tommy,” Quackity had flattened the poster against a wall, holding it in place with his body. “There’s a bunch more smaller posters in the package— I want them plastered on every free surface of this place.” Karl hurried to help him, crossing his arm over Quackity’s waist in a very inefficient manner— if he was truly trying to help his fiancé hold the thing up, that is. Tommy took a hammer and began nailing the posters into the wood with enthusiasm. He paid little mind to symmetry, much to Tubbo’s chagrin.

“That’s alright, I guess,” Tubbo sighed to himself. Here he was, talking to the back of someone’s head again. “I’ll get started on cleanup, then.” He turned around just in time to see Niki Nihachu stagger around the corner with a towering plate of cookies.

“Hello, I’m so sorry we’re late!” Niki called around the platter, carefully choosing her footing as Tubbo hurried to help her. She was followed closely behind by Jack Manifold, who was stumbling after her with his own load, laden with bags and crockery like a huffing and puffing pack mule.

“Food!” Tommy shouted, in pure elation.

“I’m quite happy to see you as well, Tommy Innit,” Jack yelled back. He had so much in his arms that he had to wait for Tubbo and Karl to help unload him.

“They’re from my bakery,” Niki beamed at Tommy’s enthusiasm as Quackity helped himself to a chocolate chip cookie. “I got up very early this morning to get them all in the oven.”

“You see, usually the idea is that you would _pay_ for them, but she hasn’t taken money for a single treat yet, so we just thought we’d bring them here,” Jack said. “I’m not even getting paid for my labor,” he complained.

“You ate half the dough of anything I made,” Niki gave him a disapproving glare, “I think you’ve been more than repaid for your help.”

Quackity was already rubbing at a chocolate stain he’d smudged onto his suit. “If I had known we were going to have a picnic, I would have brought napkins.”

“Very funny,” Tubbo grumbled, already knowing that it was going to be he who ended up doing his SoS’s laundry. “Niki, thank you for coming. Could you maybe get started on picking up all the firecracker charges? We’re running a bit behind on schedule.”

“Oh sure, Tubbo!” Niki looked surprised. “I mean, Mr. President.” She gave him an encouraging smile as she set her platter of baked goods down.

“Thanks,” Tubbo bent to pick up an axe, offering the handle to Jack. “Jack, want to get started on uh… _dismantling_ the festival booths around here?”

Jack took the axe. “You’re handing me an axe and asking me to start destroying shit. How could I say no, Tubbsters?” He grinned and got to work.

“Hey, how come you wouldn’t let me do that five minutes ago?” Tommy complained.

“Because putting an axe in your hands, Tommy Innit,” Jack declared, “is about as safe as giving a loaded crossbow to a baby.”

“You’re a moron, Jack Manifold,” Tommy shouted across the courtyard. He thought for a minute. “And you smell bad!”

“That’s not me you’re smelling all the way over there, now is it?” Jack yelled back. “Say, Big Q, do you think you’ve got enough wallpaper on that side of the building?”

Quackity looked up from his posters with a grin. “Just trying my hand at covering up these ugly scorch marks— I’ll move on to that thing you call a face in a bit.”

“Oh,” Karl giggled.

Niki worked close to Tubbo, shooting him a glance. “Has anyone seen Puffy lately?” she asked casually.

“Captain Puffy?” Tubbo thought for a moment. “Not that I know of. Why?”

“Well,” Niki dusted the dirt from an empty firework casing. “She was supposed to come meet me at the bakery this morning to help me carry everything, but she never showed up.” She paused, adding quickly, “If you see her, tell her it’s okay though, because Jack came over to help anyway.” She chewed at a ragged thumbnail. “It’s not that important, I just hope she’s alright. She doesn’t seem like the kind of person to make promises they won’t keep.” She narrowed her eyes and stared off into the distance, and a strange shadow passed over her face that Tubbo didn’t quite understand.

“I’ll let her know if I see her,” he said, apparently snapping her out of her thoughts.

“Thank you, Tubbo.” She squeezed his hand, forcing a smile.

“No, thank you for coming,” Tubbo said quietly. “I wasn’t sure if Jack would make it, and I have no idea where Fundy is. This whole thing has kind of been a wild ride trying to pull together.”

Niki frowned. “You have a lot on your shoulders, Tub— Mr. President. I don’t envy your job.”

Tubbo sighed. “Please don’t call me Mr. President, Niki.”

“Okay,” Niki said. She tucked a strand of hair behind one ear. “You know that we’re all here for you. We need L’Manberg back. The _real_ L’Manberg. I’m sure Tommy does most of all.”

“Tommy is… Tommy.” Tubbo jerked his own hair out of his eyes. “He has his own things to take care of. I’m fine, Niki. I just need some time to process things. It’s sort of a lot to take in at once.”

“Of course,” Niki stepped back, lifting the empty firecracker in her hand with a smile. “I’ll take that as a hint to get back to work, then.”

Tubbo watched her leave. Jack called something to her, and she laughed at his supposed joke. Quackity was still nailing posters onto any available space; his jacket was tied around his waist and every button on his white shirt was already undone, even though it wasn’t remotely hot outside. Karl was studying the surrounding architecture and nodding to himself, jotting down notes in a small notepad, and Tommy had abandoned the job completely, camping out at the food table and occasionally calling out ‘helpful’ instructions to the others.

Tubbo laughed softly to himself. It was nice to see everyone simply enjoying each other’s company again, almost like the old days. It sparked a warm glow in his chest to see them all begin to smile again. Still, his gaze was again drawn to the podium, and the sick feeling returned, gnawing at his gut. He massaged his stomach uselessly, biting his bottom lip.

 _We can rebuild again_ , he told himself firmly. _We’ve done it before. We can do it again._

_...Right?_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ever feel like the lore is moving too fast to keep up? It seems like everyone always seems to be streaming their own ***incredibly important lore thing*** at the same time now, and it's hard to pick and choose which perspective to focus on. It's terrifying writing and knowing that all it takes is a single stream to completely undo a carefully crafted headcanon. Oh, well.
> 
> I'm curious to see what people's go-to streamers are lore-wise? With school I have to catch streams when I can, so I don't feel like I watch any one person more than the other, but I don't know about anyone else.


	3. The King

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’ve decided to put together a ‘soundtrack’ for the fic, or some songs that can be on in the background during certain chapters. You can choose whether you want to listen to them or not. We’ll see how it goes, and if I’ll even be able to find the perfect track for every chapter lol. 
> 
> The track for this chapter is "Structure and Discipline" by Thomas Newman.

The king didn’t mind working alone. Really, he didn’t. He’d worked on his own ever since the war for L’Manberg, and really even before that. He’d just thought that it’d be different this time. He’d lost everything. His position. His crown. His own castle, that he’d spent countless hours lovingly crafting with his own two hands. 

It was only now that he realized it would never be enough to pay for what he’d done.

Of course, no one had  _ expressly _ denied his presence at the meetup that morning; after all, he had contributed as much as any of them in the battle to free L’Manberg from Schlatt’s rule. He’d shared their hardships, their pain— their bitter failure. He had thought it would be enough, but it seemed some things didn’t heal with time. They would always look at him and remember his greatest regret. It was for that reason that Eret had quietly decided not to show up to the gathering, instead spending his morning repairing the neglect it had undergone during the brief rule of its previous owner.

He liked to think his reflexes were still as attuned as ever, but his heart just about jumped into his throat when he turned to find Punz standing behind him, having entered unnoticed. He choked down a startled curse as the mercenary grinned.

“Hi.”

“ _ Hck— _ Hi,” Eret choked. “How did you get in here so quietly?”

The mercenary shrugged. “You have a lot of upper windows and rafters.”

“You do realize the entrance is wide open?” Eret breathed, and tugged at his collar for air.

Punz just grinned again. “You looked like you were in deep thought just then.”

Eret glanced down at the pickaxe in his hands, readjusting his grip. “I tend to focus very hard on tasks that need to be done,” he said shortly. He was more annoyed than anything now. “What do you want?” It came out a little ruder than he would have liked, but the mercenary just began to polish the gold chain around his neck absently.

“Thought you might like to know one of your knights is missing,” he glanced up, meeting Eret’s eye. “I overheard them talking this morning— nobody’s seen Captain Puffy since yesterday afternoon.”

That was a bit strange— Puffy liked to be in the middle of things. She’d only arrived a few days ago, smelling of sun and a worn uniform stiff with dried seawater, and she’d already pledged her services as a knight, wanting to help with the aftermath of the battle. Eret was surprised she hadn’t showed up to help with the cleanup that morning. 

Still, he eyed Punz suspiciously. “What does any of that have to do with you?”

The mercenary stopped toying with his chain. “Listen, I might be cold-blooded when it comes to money, but I can still care about people, alright?” He shook his head, shifting his footing. “Thing is, I was the last person to see Puffy last night. Bad and Antfrost were asking for her help with something— unfortunately I couldn’t get close enough to hear just what. She left for the Badlands with them and hasn’t been seen since.” There was a strange look in Punz’s eye that Eret didn’t quite understand.

Eret pressed his lips together, studying the mercenary carefully. “Why are you telling me this?” he asked finally.

Punz rubbed the back of his neck, the first sign of discomfort he’d made since showing up. “I dunno. I was one of your knights once, wasn’t I?”

“Yes, for exactly thirty minutes before returning the contract and asking me to ‘undo’ the dubbing,” Eret said bluntly.

“Yeah… sorry about that.” Punz looked almost sheepish. “That was a mistake. I mostly just came to my senses and remembered I'm not cut out for that kind of commitment.” His fingers seemed to lift instinctively for his chain again, but he pulled them back down. He straightened, meeting Eret’s gaze again. “But I really mean this in the best faith possible.” Punz pressed his lips into a straight line, as though searching for the right words. “Look. You can laugh if you want, but I’ve had this weird feeling since the war ended… like it isn’t over. Not really. Like, Schlatt might be dead, but it doesn’t feel right. Somebody’s still out there, planning their next move. I dunno. It just feels weird.”

Eret lifted his eyebrows. “Is that supposed to be a cryptic sort of threat?”

“What?” Punz tilted his head to one side. “No! Not a threat. More like… I dunno. A warning, I guess.”

Eret sighed. “I can’t really figure you out, if I’m honest.” He ran his fingers through his hair, pushing it out of his face. “Just a few days ago, you were shooting flaming arrows at me and my companions from a tower.”

“You should know about being a mercenary better than anyone...” There it was. The corner of Punz’s lip had lifted slightly, the first sign of smug malice that Eret truly knew the man for. “Some people don’t ever pick a side.” 

Eret had been wondering when that was going to show up. Just like his occupation the man was unpredictable, and he’d gone for the throat, just when Eret had begun to let his guard down. H e could have sworn he’d seen a flicker of concern in the mercenary’s expression, when he had spoken of Puffy. From what he knew, the two had their share of adventures together back in the day, pirating and making a general nuisance of themselves on the high seas. The Captain seemed to have mellowed out since then, but not Punz. The glint of bloodlust still flickered in the man’s cold blue eyes, the kind of hunger that was never satisfied. It had resurfaced now as he watched Eret with the intensity of a wolf— waiting for the prey to betray any sign of weakness.

Eret was not going to be the prey. To give the mercenary the satisfaction of a reply. He had become quite good at that— turning his feelings off. At least so they no longer showed themselves on his face anymore. They still twisted inside his chest, a terrible ache— a  _ need _ — that he could never seem to soothe. It was an ailment for which there was no cure, and sometimes he stared up at the ceiling at night, wondering why he had made that choice to afflict it upon himself. On his former friends.

He inhaled slowly, letting out the breath in a sigh, and turned to gather his things. “Punz, I’m going to give you the benefit of the doubt. If you really mean what you say, I suppose it’s my duty to investigate further. Regardless of whether you’re telling the truth or not, one of my knights is missing, and I don’t take such things lightly.”

“Would you like me to come with you?” Punz asked, with a roguish quirk of his lip. The quiet contemplation of before was gone, replaced only by that familiar smug smile. “Entering foreign soil and all that. Might be nice to have an extra set of eyes, just in case.” He swung his sword up to rest on his shoulderplate meaningfully.

Eret gave him a hard stare. “I know you’ll just be following me anyway, so why not? After all, when have you ever had involvement in causing me harm?”

Punz grinned, and bent to sheath the weapon, resting his hand on the pommel. “I like you, Eret. We didn’t get to talk much during the first war, and I think that’s kinda disappointing. I think we could eventually become good friends.”

“Hmm,” Eret grunted, and chose not to answer.

* * *

The journey to the Badlands wasn’t too long, relatively speaking, but it could have been anywhere from hours to days to Eret. For the most part, he and Punz walked in silence, as the mercenary seemed content to settle into a swaggering stroll, keeping a couple paces ahead of him. They had to pass close to the ruins of L’Manberg, and Eret could just see the tiny figures moving in the distance around the gaping crater, likely packing up to head home for the night. He knew Punz was watching him intently, but he refused to show any emotion, continuing on without giving the others another glance.

It was easy to see the threshold to the Badlands, a literal gateway through to the enormous quartz mansion that belonged to Skeppy and the resident demon, Bad. Eret was surprised to see the former lying alone in the grass of his lawn, staring up into the darkening sky. His hands were bandaged— Notch knew why— and were resting on his chest as he wagged his feet back and forth absently.

“Uh... hello?” Eret said, peering down at the young man. 

Skeppy turned his head just enough to look at him. “Hi. What are you doing on my lawn?”

“Apologies,” Eret said, a bit taken aback. “But I’m looking for one of my knights, who’s been missing since yesterday afternoon. Have you seen Captain Puffy lately?”

“Who?” Skeppy wrinkled his nose, flicking away a spider that had crawled up his shoulder.

“I suppose not, then,” Eret raked his fingers through his hair. “Uh, do you know where any of the other Badlands members are? Like Antfrost or Bad? Do you know where Bad is?”

“Nah,” Skeppy said. “But I can call him. One sec.” He cleared his throat, chest expanding with a deep breath. “ ** _SHIT!_** ”

“AHHH! LANGUAGE!” The demon’s head shot out from behind the trim on the roof, and the dark figure jumped to his feet, brandishing a hammer. He sprang down from the ledge, batlike wings dragging his fall to a gentle glide. “Skeppy! I was literally right here— you could have just yelled for me!”

“I just did,” Skeppy picked at his bandaged hands carelessly.

“That is  _ not _ what I—” Bad began, but quickly cut himself off. “Hi,” he sighed wearily, acknowledging Eret and Punz. “How can I help you?”

“Hi Bad,” Punz grinned. “Your puppy is learning naughty words.”

“I am not his puppy!” Skeppy yelled from the ground. “If anything, he’s  _ my _ pet!”

“Hello,” Eret hurriedly stuck out his hand for Bad to shake. “I’m Eret. I remember seeing you in the battle a few days ago, but I can’t quite recall if we were trying to kill each other or not.”

“It’s all a jumble of memories,” the demon waved a careless hand, accepting Eret’s handshake with a firm grip. “What does it matter now, anyways?” 

The demon’s skin was extremely warm to the touch, vibrating with a strange energy, and Eret found himself wondering what the creature’s metabolism was like. What exactly did he... eat? And just  _ how _ common was it for demons to live contentedly in the overworld? This was the first one he’d met one in person, and he couldn’t help but think that they weren’t quite as scary as the lore would have him believe. Bad’s pupiless eyes, glowing with a white intensity, were disconcerting to say the least, and his claws were at least three inches in length, but there was an undeniable softness to his face, which was only accentuated by the comfy black and red hoodie and sweatpants he was wearing— which Eret guessed Skeppy must have given him. The hood didn’t exactly lay flat against his head, propped up awkwardly on two protrusions of which Eret could only assume were horns, and two slits had been cut in the back to accommodate his enormous wings, but the well-worn nature of the fabric suggested that Bad thought very fondly of the outfit regardless.

“Right...” Eret shook himself out of his thoughts. “I’m actually here because one of my knights, Captain Puffy, has gone missing, and no one seems to know where she is. Would you happen to know anything about this?”

Bad’s eyes widened. “Missing? That’s alarming news.”

“Yes...” Eret narrowed his own eyes. He shared a furtive look with Punz.

“That’s actually very concerning,” Bad continued, and his pitch-black claws tightened around each other fitfully. “You see, I wasn’t going to tell anyone because it wasn’t too worrying at this point in time, but now that you’ve mentioned that…” The demon tapped a nail to his teeth in distress. “You see, Antfrost has disappeared as well.”


End file.
